


It Gets Lonesome Here

by historymiss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Epistolary, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historymiss/pseuds/historymiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selected letters from James Buchanan Barnes. Originally written for the Bucky throwdown on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Gets Lonesome Here

Dear Becca

Promised I’d write soon as I got to the orfanage and here it is, though I got no address to send it to. Your new folks didnt say. Steve says I can ask the sisters later, but they’re so busy with God I dunno if they know much else. Guess I’ll try. Forgive the mess, they want me to rite with my other hand and not the left, just like in school when you’d watch me do my work. I hope your school is nice.

Steve who I mentioned is this skinny kid with asma, you can see daylight right through him but he’s full of piss and vinagar like dad would say. First time I met him he fought the biggest guy here and you know I had to help and I guess we’re friends now. He’s alright. I know I said I wouldn’t get in fights but you must not be mad at me Becca I am your only brother and I gotta be the way I am I guess.

Sometimes I think about you and your new folks. I hope you are happy. They seemed real nice and I hope I can visit you soon when I get your adress, not like anywun could stop me if I wanted. You wait, right soon I will be an adult and we can live back at the base like mom and dad used to. 

Keep well and say your prayers and kiss your dumb rabbit for me okay. 

I love you. 

Jimmy.

—-

Dear Jerk,

Well, stuck here waiting for a goddamn truck again so I thought I’d scratch a line to my favourite starving artist. Even if it’s been a few months now- The post seems to be screwing up your letters because I never get them. How’s being the last eligible bachelor in New York going? I hope you got the card with Clara’s address on it that I sent to you before I left. She was real disappointed when you didn’t show after the fair.

Because I’m not sure you got my other letters, I’ll say this to you again: I know you think you haven’t got a chance with these women but you have to give them a try, Steve. Fooling around ain’t gonna hurt anybody, and it’s not healthy for you to be alone. God knows I’m not around right now to make sure you don’t get your skinny ass into fights, least I could do is set you up with a dame to keep you warm. Living like a monk ain’t gonna help America, and what else are you going to write to me about, anyway?

The war proceeds well without you. Our latest pointless trek into nowhere ends at some hole called Assano, though we haven’t gotten there yet. This war gets crazier every day. Yesterday, Morita, Gabe and I were tasked with unspooling a large roll of cable. It took forever and damned if I didn’t walk down the line to see what’s up and find another group of boys winding the goddamned thing back up! I swear, the war isn’t half like the news reels made it seem. I reckon a smart guy like you is well out of it.

Well, the truck’s here so I gotta go. Tell the women of Brooklyn that their hero still lives, and stands ready in his regulation tin helmet and rifle to defend their honor against the German hordes.

Yrs,

Bucky

—-

Becca,

They make us write a will before we fight. Did you know that? You probably don’t. You’d be what, sixteen by now? Too young to worry about war, and also too young to worry about boys yet. I’m underlining that part so you know how serious I am. No boys ‘til you’re forty.

Anyway. They make us write a will. But fucked- sorry, damned if I don’t have anyone to leave anything to. Steve is here with me, after all. I wrote you about Steve, but basically- and please Becca, don’t tell anyone- he’s Captain America. They’ll probably redact that. Steve’s a good guy, and he’ll probably be the one delivering this, so be nice to him. All that’s left is you, and well, God knows where you are.

I tried to find you when they split us up, but I was ten and- you know, excuses. All the ones i used to give when dad caught me fighting. I was a kid. I didn’t know any better. I was scared. Truth is, it was easier to narrow the focus down to just me for a while, and I’m real sorry for that. As far as I can tell, though, you must have done okay. Me? I knocked about an orphanage for a while and then joined the army. There was some other stuff in between- boxing, mainly- but that’s the highlights. And now, presumably, I’m dead.

So this is it. This letter is going to be the only thing in my will, and I’m giving it to you, because I should have worked harder to find you. I should have kept in touch, and I shouldn’t have gotten my stupid ass killed. I should have been a better big brother to you.

The only other thing I’ve got is the photo from your first birthday of us all: there’s mom (pretty, ain’t she?), and dad, and me and you. You were one, so you probably don’t remember it, but now you have a picture. I wonder what you look like now? I bet you’re a knockout. I don’t have anything recent of me to send you, so ask whoever delivers this, ok?

Anyway, that’s all I can think of to tell you. Be safe, be happy. Find a good guy (when you’re forty) and make sure he treats you right. And think of your big brother once in a while.

I love you, sis.

Jimmy

—-

(translated from Russian)

Natalia,

This will be unsent, I know, but I have to write it. I don’t even know if you remember me: why would you? I was just another face to you, surely, another man doing unspeakable things to you in the Red Rooms. Was it even love if we were puppets? I find myself asking that, as the memories come back. Was it love, that decision we made in the dark, or was it just another manipulation? One more of Karpov’s tricks to keep us in line? Times like this, I try and get out of my own head and fall back onto what I know. What I remember.

I remember I love you. But I don’t know if you still love me.

I can see you with Clint- I don’t know what he is to you, but I can see you’re happy. You never were one for uncomplicated relationships, but he seems as simple as you can get, what with SHIELD and this strange, modern world. He seems easy to love. That’s probably what you need. Me, I’ve been left with a head full of ghosts, and too many blank spaces to fill.

And yeah. You’ll read this and roll your eyes, because even as I write this I know how it sounds. And you’re right. I’m jealous. Ain’t that the kicker? It’s hard to write, even though I know you won’t read this, not really. Guys like me should be past jealousy, right? It’s been seventy years and another lifetime and somehow I’m still getting ready to haul off and punch another guy for looking at my dame. That’s a me you never knew, of course. I keep reminding myself: you didn’t fall in love with Bucky, right? So what right do I have to rock up like nothing ever happened?

Steve- stupid, goddamn Steve- would say jealousy is an ugly emotion and it’s not who I am. Fuck Steve. He never really knew who I was, even in the War. You got closer, even if you don’t remember.

So here I am, stuck with one half of a relationship and a yearning for a woman who probably doesn’t even know my face, whining onto paper because God forbid anybody find out that ‘remember who you are’ ain’t easy. Least of all you, Natalia. Natasha. Natashenka.

I never knew your name before. It’s got a good sound.

God, James. You’re a mess.

Don’t send this.

—-

You wrote this, so you know it’s true.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, but your friends will call you Bucky.

The woman who gave this note to you is Natasha Romanoff. She loves you, and I know that even if nothing else remains, you love her.

She is the only one who calls you James.

You will not be extracted. You do not need orders. You do not have to kill any more. The hand is a horror, I know, but you are safe. You can be trusted. Stark’s son (yes, he had a son) says that it probably won’t come alive and try to strangle you.

No, it’s not dumb to be worried about that.

It has been seventy years. Look at the buildings- yes, I know, they’re ugly, but the lines haven’t changed. The city is the same. It’s just older. Like you.

The guys that died: Gabe. Morita. Dernier. Stark. Falsworth. You’ve visited their graves. Dugan and Peggy are still alive. Steve is still alive. He’s safe- you haven’t done anything.

The war is over, and the USSR doesn’t exist any more. Every enemy you had is dead, and though the dreams won’t stop (I’m sorry) you’ve built some good ones too. I hope you still have them.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, and you made it out.


End file.
